


Scarlet Sin

by bellatrix_black_Lestrange (bellatrix_black_lestrange)



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: BDSM, F/M, Impact Play, Loss of Virginity, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Power Play, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:28:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatrix_black_lestrange/pseuds/bellatrix_black_Lestrange
Summary: Lucille and Thomas Sharpe are united after years apart. Lucille returns to their decaying ancestral hall and the siblings revisit the fatal events that occurred there. They finally consummate their lifelong lust in the master bedroom that belonged to their late parents.





	

Thomas Sharpe watched the carriage draw closer to the gates of Allerdale hall. The cold, dry autumn air smelled of wood smoke and dead leaves. For the first time in four years, he would see his dear sister Lucille. He wondered if she would be much changed, if she would return a stranger. During her stay at the asylum, their correspondence was monitored. Every letter of his was opened and read by the staff before it found its way to Lucille. They had to dance carefully around their truth, and talk about their desires so subtly that no one else could understand what they truly meant.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and the valet stepped out to unload the trunk. The door cracked open, and the first Thomas saw of his sister was her hand wearing a kidskin glove. He loved her hands. They were long, strong, and always his comfort. She emerged from the carriage in a long, black wool coat buttoned up all the way to the neck. Lucille had a red silk flower pinned at her lapel—a single flash of color in an all-black ensemble. His sister was still there, she looked mostly the same, but the years of torture and grief had stolen the softness from her smile. Lucille was all angles now, but still beautiful as ever. Thomas took her hand in his and helped her out of the carriage and down to the ground. 

Lucille stepped onto the earth, and Thomas saw how short she was now in comparison to him, and grinned. She looked up and down his whole length to truly drink him in. Thomas learned to dress himself with polish. His childlike face had sculpted itself into something chiseled and handsome, but his eyes still possessed a genuine and earnest sparkle. Thomas was lucky, and had just been sent to boarding school. Some of his youthful optimism had been preserved.

“Welcome home, sweet sister.” He greeted her warmly, kissed her once on the cheek, and took her in his arms. The last time they embraced, he could fit right under her chin and rest his head on her chest. Now a grown man, he was much taller than her. But he and Lucille still fit perfectly together, the opposite way around. She buried her face in his breast and clutched him tight. It was the first bit of closeness she’d had in four long years. He put his hand right where her spine met her skull and gently stroked her neck.

All the way down the walkway to the house, Lucille hung onto her brother by fistfuls of his jacket. He kept his hand around her waist, holding her upright. In the past, it was always Lucille who lifted him up, and let him surrender his whole physical self to her. She was his older, wiser, braver sister and she would protect them. This is the way it should be. The Sharpes existed to hold each other up, and without each other they were incomplete, they would crumble. The valet brought the trunk, collected his payment, and then left the two alone.

Behind the closed doors of Allerdale Hall, and away from prying, judgmental eyes, they could now fully be themselves. Lucille trembled a bit as she looked up towards the high, caved-in ceiling. Slowly, she undid the clasps of her coat and let it fall to the floor. The drafty house was not much warmer than the outside, but the cold never seemed to bother her.

Thomas grabbed his sister by the waist and lifted her off the ground with both hands, and spun her. Lucille gave a little gasp, then a laugh. The last time she saw Thomas, he was an awkward boy of fourteen. Now he was graceful. Her heart fluttered. Thomas’s grip was strong, firm, and a little bit hungry. His grace of movement and strength of his hold on her surpassed that of simple gentlemanly courtesy. In their years apart, they had both grown into their sexualities. What was once love and dependence manifested itself into lust, and for the first time they could truly touch each other at will. Lucille wanted to peel off his clothes and feel what was underneath, to run her hands over his new muscles, and to experience his grip on her bare flesh. She always imagined who Thomas would be when they met again. He was coltish and untrained, but Lucille would show him how to love her.

The years in asylum, and the abuse and neglect that were part of it left Lucille feeling much older than her twenty years. But Thomas made her feel small again, like the world was still open for her taking, like her light hadn’t already gone out. When Lucille was taken away, it was as if she died. Thomas was her whole world, and Lucille had been kept from him.

He put her down again softly, and she pulled him in close. Their breath was hot on each other face. Lucille kissed her brother slowly and ardently. The last kisses he shared with his sister were the closed lipped, innocent greetings. This wasn’t. Thomas always let his older sister take the lead. They knew it was coming, that they couldn’t resist each other much longer, but Thomas was a bit bashful. No one had touched him in that way before. His hands hung limp by his sides, unsure of what to do. Thomas raised them and cupped the small of her back in his hands to draw her even closer. The space between the two of them was reduced to nothing. 

The last time they were this close was standing over their mother’s corpse, marveling at the feel, the smell, and the look of a dead body. This lifeless thing that looked like Lady Beatrice Sharpe sat in front of them. Lucille was the first to put her hands on the corpse, and Thomas followed suit. They held their hands there and felt the heat slowly leave the body. There was something intimate about killing a thing and watching it die, watching the light leave its eyes, and the surface of the skin grey and turn cold. Now, with their hands on each other’s bodies they were only getting warmer. 

As the siblings explored each other, they got lost in the same bewilderment as they did after the murder. With their mother gone they were endowed with a daunting freedom. Lucille held her brother’s hand in hers and walked him up their stairs. They both knew what the other wanted, but both of their hearts beat as fast as if they feared rejection. The siblings climbed faster and faster as they neared the top of the stairs. Drafty air whistled through the house, whispering to them.

The master bedroom was always off-limits. The children caught glimpses from the doorway time to time, but that was it. The last time Thomas or Lucille were in the house together, they still stayed in the nursery. The late Lady Sharpe never allowed them rooms of their own, even when Lucille was much too old to be sleeping in a nursery. However, after they had disposed of their mother, the nursery was where the Sharpe siblings decided to stay until they were pried out.

The moths waiting at the intricately carved ebony doorframe flitted into the room. The four-poster bed that had looked impossibly enormous to them as children now looked comfortably necessary. All of the elder Sharpes’ effects were still in the room. While he did sell a fair amount of paintings, jewelry, and other priceless luxuries to try and recoup their dwindling fortune, Thomas did not want to touch the personal items without Lucille’s agreement. 

Next to the door stood Lucius Sharpe’s walking stick—a polished ebony cane, topped with a handle of silver and ruby. After his death, Beatrice had let it remain there, as if it were waiting to be used. The flash of the red handle caught Lucille’s eye immediately. She ran her hand over the smooth stone and gripped the handle as if she were going to use it and turned back to Thomas. This was the very instrument their father used to carry out his brutal punishments. Lucille knew exactly how the silver handle felt when it struck you on the back, just what kind of wound it left, and how long it took to heal. Now the very thing belonged to her. Lucille wished for a moment that she could resurrect her father from the dead, just to give him a few blows to the head and face with her new device.

She set it down on the bed, sat next to it, and looked at Thomas. Now was not a time to think of father. She pulled her brother to sit next to her. He lowered himself to the bed while loosening his cravat and shirt collar. The wind picked up and a sighed was heard throughout the house. That sound did not give them pause anymore. She began pulling pins out of her hair and let it fall around her shoulders. Lucille started at her own buttons, but her elegant pianist’s fingers were trembling and slipping. Thomas looked to help his sister, but she insisted on finishing the job herself.

With some small, quick tugs, Lucille undid her corset laces and unclasped it down the front. Thomas pulled the strings of her chemise, it fell past her shoulders and gathered around her breasts. He wanted to slide a hand under the silk, but was immediately caught by the scar that scored the soft, alabaster expanse of skin across her collarbone. This was new. Thomas traced it with his finger. When Lucille leaned forward, he noticed similar scars on her shoulders. They were like the ones on her back that Lucius had left so many years ago. He took both her shoulders in his hands and began to stroke them with his thumbs. She flinched but then relaxed into him.

“It didn’t stop with Father.” She whispered with her eyes downcast.

“At school, they would give us the switch when we were out of line, but this...” Thomas said incredulously. 

“No different than what Father left. Remember.” Lucille draped her hair over one shoulder and turned around, exposing the older scars on her back to her brother.

Thomas parted his lips, as if he could say something, anything, to take away all she suffered at his hands. Lucille closed the space between them and kissed him. Thomas himself was enough, was all she needed to make her life whole for the first time.

“I regret every blow you suffered at his hands.” 

“I regret nothing. I could not bear to see your beautiful, perfect skin marred by scars. It was left to me for good reason. He is gone now and you will never have to know…”

“But I want to…” Thomas could not find what it is he wanted to say. “I want to know.”

Lucille could not respond. She felt she would to break into tears if she moved or spoke.

“I want you to…” Thomas took the cane in his hands and gave it to his sister. “I want to feel it.”

“You want it?” His request made her flush. Lucille knew how to do it. She knew how to strike someone to make them hurt. Lucille had learned that when she ended her mother, and that day she learned what that power meant and how it felt, and that she enjoyed it. Lucille held it in her heart ever since. But she could not put Thomas at the end of it.

“Put all that you love for me into this.” Thomas begged as he pressed the cane’s ebony shaft into his sister’s hands.

Lucille still could not fathom why her brother would ask this of her, but took the instrument in agreement. She held the cane with two hands, and moved it up and down to feel its full weight. It was heavy and too long for her to ever practically use. The handle glinted a bright red—the red of the clay that had brought their fortune. The Sharpe family’s penchant for garnets and rubies made more than enough sense. Lucille never used it herself but she had felt the cane’s strike more times than she cared to count. She tested a swing into her own hand. The weight was powerful.

While his sister practiced, Thomas pulled off his shirt. Lucille noticed he wore nothing under them. This was perhaps a new habit, picked up from school friends. Why he would forgo undergarments, she had no idea. Though her train of thought was stopped immediately when Thomas removed his trousers. 

She set the cane on the bed and moved closer to Thomas so she could run her fingers up his spine. Lucille gently turned him over and exposed his back to her. The long, pale expanse of his back was immaculate, unblemished by scars in the way hers was not. Lucille would change that. She would make them match. They would be the same in every way.

To start, Lucille ran the handle over her brother’s back, so he could get used to the feel of the metal. Despite her longings, Lucille’s instincts told her no, she absolutely should not bring him harm. Why not kiss him instead? We have to be the same. She told herself.

“Listen to me, Thomas. Turn over.” He obliged and turned to face his sister. “At any point you require me to stop, raise two fingers like this.” Lucille instructed, and then demonstrated by making an x with her two index fingers. He nodded in agreement.

Lucille dragged the head of the cane over the slight curve of her brother’s ass. She lifted it up and brought it back down once. It was nothing more than a tap. He did not even flinch. Something gave Lucille pause now that her brother was on the other end of the weapon. But she loved him more than that little nothing of a hit.

She began to warm him up to the feeling of being hit with gentle, firm strokes. Lucille increased the strength every time until she began to hear Thomas’s breathing strain. She ran her hand down the length of his back, and then gave her hardest strike yet at the place where her hand had just departed. He leaned into her, rather than asking Lucille to stop.

“I have barely gotten started.” Lucille told Thomas. “You’ve known switches, schoolboy smacks on the rear for speaking out of turn. That’s nothing compared to this.” There was a sliver of cruelty in her voice.

“Now imagine you cried the first time Father made you butcher a sheep for our supper. You did it wrong and got too much blood on the wool, and before you can even get cleaned up he tears off the back of your dress to punish your ineptitude and immaturity. That’s when he hits you like THIS--” She shivered as she re-lived that day. Lucille reared back and brought the garnet down across her brother’s back. He grunted into the bedding. A furious red welt bloomed on his back. 

Her heart pounded and her face flushed. Lucille trembled a bit and was glad Thomas could not see. It had been years since she had this much power.

“I am sorry. I did not know—“ Thomas began to apologize and Lucille interrupted.

“You must call me Mistress.” Lucille commanded.

“I am sorry Mistress.” Thomas corrected himself. 

“That’s right.” She said icily. Lucille had been brutalized for so long, and now to be brutal towards another felt only right.

“For every year that I was locked away while you were permitted to attend school, to have a life, to make friends, to spend time in any pleasant company, you will get a strike.” The words formed on Lucille’s tongue before she even had the chance to think them through. It was six. Five more times she would have to hit him with that terrible cane. But she would not go back on her word.

“And you will say ‘thank you’ after each one.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

Without another word, Lucille drove the head of the cane into her brother once more, just a bit off the spot where she first struck him. This time he cried out in agony. He glowed red and then little ruby bead of blood dripped out where the welt was. Lucille dabbed her finger on it and licked the blood off.

When Thomas could speak again, he uttered a “thank you” as best as he could manage.

“Good.” Lucille ran a hand to Thomas’s ass and gave a gentle squeeze. She brought the cane down right there, this time using the wood shaft to give him a break from the metal. The initial pain of the strike spread into a dull, pleasurable warmth. He moved towards her.

“Mmh—Thank you, Mistress.” Thomas said with no strain in his voice this time.

“Three.” Lucille counted. “Now FOUR!” She cried and smacked him on the ass once again. Thomas cried out in pleasure and pain. He got on all fours and began to stroke himself. Lucille got a glimpse of his cock and felt herself warm as well.

She reared back with too much zeal, missed her mark and struck Thomas’s shoulder. He buckled under the impact.

“Thank you, Mistress” he still managed with his face pressed into the bedding. She had really hurt him this time. All Thomas’s bodily pain manifested itself wet between her thighs, and Lucille felt ashamed and aroused. There was just one more strike.

This time, Lucille took the handle of the cane in two hands and batted the shaft across his back. He grunted and then arched his back towards her. Six. Thomas closed his eyes tipped his head back.

“Thank you, Mistress.” He whispered. Lucille set the cane down and knelt on the bed. She caressed everywhere she hurt him. Thomas collected his senses and came to his knees next to Lucille. During his punishment, he had become completely erect. He floated his sister’s chemise up and over her head and cast it behind her. For a moment, Lucille could not meet his eyes. She blushed when she finally did. Thomas said nothing, but kissed her forcefully and laid her on her back.

Away at school, when he and his friends all discovered pleasure, they bragged about who they imagined when they touched themselves at night. For one boy it was his pretty young piano teacher, for another, illustrations from a lewd book he had stolen from his uncle, for some of them it was other boys. Thomas always made something up, because he could not tell his friends that it was his sister. So many nights, he imagined what it would be like to lay her down and take Lucille’s virginity. The idea that another man might get to infuriated him. Now it was clear that she had never been with another, and he had his chance.

Lucille looked up at her brother. Eventually she had learned what and where to touch in order to bring herself pleasure. And every time she thought only of him. Unable to wait, Lucille moved her fingers in circles over her clitoris as she always did. She had waited an eternity for this day.

Thomas took her thighs in his hands and pushed them apart. They were plush and soft compared to his. He kissed their insides. Lucille’s eyes widened. She never imagined she would be kissed there, and yet it felt so perfect. Without much grace, Thomas slid into her. Lucille yelped. His cock was so different from her own fingers. It was harder, hotter, thicker, and it hurt just a little bit. He began to move inside her. For a moment, Lucille found herself frozen and could not move. She took in a long breath and began to adjust herself. Thomas put his hands on the side of his sister’s face. He left one there while the other slid down her neck. She broke out in gooseflesh. He felt her everywhere he had never been allowed to touch, over her breasts, sternum, and waist. Lucille stopped him at her nipple, showed him how to roll it gently, in such the way she liked.

Lucille followed the motion of Thomas’s cock with her hips. When it wasn’t enough, she grabbed handfuls of the sheets and lifted her lower body off the mattress. Thomas followed and stroked her harder and more steadily. They were both in sync with each other. He thrusted harder and Lucille whimpered involuntarily. Thomas slowed down but Lucille did not. And then he stroked her at that precise spot where she was most sensitive, just a few inches inside, the source of the grandest physical ecstacy that was second only to the feeling of ending a human life. Lucille’s breathing became ragged and she held herself there. 

Thomas did not know what she was doing, but followed her lead just the same. He saw her arms begin to strain. Lucille could not even look at him, just stared at the ceiling. He took both her legs and held them at his sides so her hips could remain elevated, so she could stay at that angle she desperately needed. Lucille was tight around him, and Thomas felt himself so close to the edge of climax, of spilling himself into her. But he waited.

Lucille began to cry out. A few more strokes was all she needed. She thrust herself as hard as she could. Thomas felt his sister clamp around him and just then she shrieked. A tear rolled out of her eye as she came. It was too much for him. Thomas moaned as he ejaculated into Lucille. She rode him a bit more to soothe them both. When they were both satisfied, Thomas removed himself. There was fresh blood on the sheets, Lucille’s blood. They had both bled for each other. Lucille gave to Thomas what Thomas gave to Lucille, and they were both complete.


End file.
